


Quidditch in the Archives

by WhatSoMalfoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Candles, Co-workers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, NSFW Art, Office Sex, PWP, Secret Relationship, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:15:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29295756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatSoMalfoy/pseuds/WhatSoMalfoy
Summary: Ron thinks Draco fancies Hermione. And he's right about that - but what he doesn't know is that Hermione fancies him right back. You know it guys, it's a secret relationship smutty one shot - with art! NSFW applies!
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 17
Kudos: 178
Collections: Box of Chocolates, Draimone Fics





	Quidditch in the Archives

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Box_of_Chocolates](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Box_of_Chocolates) collection. 



> Written for the Dramione Collaboration Fest's: Box of Chocolates.  
> Thank you to the amazing talents of LilithShade for creating a wonderful piece to inspire this fic. I hope you like what I wrote for it! You can find Lilith and her work on her[Tumblr](https://lilithshadefanfic.tumblr.com/).
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> Coworkers / Candles / NSFW

"Duuuuuuuuuck," came the screeching voice of Ronald Weasley. Years of experience had taught Hermione that when the panic in his voice reached _that_ particular pitch, it was wise to listen. She didn't miss a beat as she dropped behind the small trolley of scrolls she was pushing—just as something large and heavy whizzed over her head, hitting the wall in front of her with a heavy thud. Springing back up to her full height, Hermione shrieked, "Ronald Weasley, is that a _Quaffle_?" Spinning on her ankle, she faced him, noted his bright red face, and discarded it. "You're playing field Quidditch in the Archives?" 

With her hands on her hips, her hair springing free of her tight chignon and her voice reaching a decibel reserved only for dogs, Hermione was a very scary witch to behold, and Ron shrank backwards as Harry and Draco caught up to him, bending over to catch their breaths. 

"What are you three thinking? Have you lost your collective bloody mind? The documents in this room are _priceless,_ and you're flinging Quaffles around like it's a grassy park! I ought to report the lot of you," Hermione admonished them all. 

Harry tucked another ball behind his back as Ron spoke sheepishly, "Actually, 'Mione, that's a Bludger..."

"Shut _up_ , Ron," Harry rolled his eyes, punching Ron's arm.

If staredowns could kill, Hermione would be on trial for a triple homicide. 

"I told you guys it was a bad idea," Draco intoned, his voice patronising.

Harry gaped at him, while Ron sniggered.

"It was your—" Harry started.

"You're just saying that because you want to get into Hermione's knickers," Ron smirked.

"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione's voice cracked, her tone matching the beet-red colour of her face.

"Merlin have mercy, Weasel. You're even more wrong than usual," Malfoy sneered at his colleagues. "I'm seriously starting to second guess your sleuthing skills and place on the team if that's the shite you're coming out with."

"Excuse me?" Hermione breathed, incredulous. Her Friday afternoon was going from bad to worse. First, her precious scrolls, books and barely-there pieces of parchment were put at risk of destruction, and now she was unshaggable? "That's it, you three—out," Hermione lifted her finger to remind them where the door was. "Now!"

"Naaw, 'Mione. Don't be like that, we just came to invite you out," Ron responded, sheepish once again.

"Yeah, we just closed our case, so it's drinks on Malfoy," Harry grinned, carding a hand through his hair.

"I don't believe I’ve actually agreed to anything of the sort," Draco added in, "but that usually is how these things go, isn't it? I get to forget how annoying you all are after supplying you with several rounds of Ogden's finest. It's a vicious cir—"

"Ok, ok—fine! I'll come out with you, but I need to finish up in here first. Get going, and I'll meet you at the pub later. And Merlin's pants, if I ever catch you three in here again with any balls other than the ones you were born with, I swear on my magic that I'll castrate the lot of you."

"Sheesh, 'Mione. Alright, the books are important. Got it," Ron said, slowly backing away. Harry joined him with a nod.

"Coming, Malfoy?" Harry called when they were a safe distance away.

"I'll help Granger finish up. I'll catch up soon," he replied.

Ron threw a wink back over his shoulder, his sniggering and playful elbowing to Harry's ribs was not lost on either of them. When they had rounded the corner, and the door to the Archives slammed behind them, Hermione released the breath she didn't realise she'd been holding. His signature smirk already in place, Draco snaked his arms around Hermione's waist and drew her to him. 

"Looks like the Weasel is on to us," he whispered, ducking down to nuzzle tiny kisses against her neck. 

"You," Hermione corrected, pushing back against his ribs even though her body screamed to give in to his touch. "Ronald is onto _you_ because _you_ haven't got a single subtle bone in your body, Malfoy."

"Hmmm," he preened, watching her shelve a scroll in exactly the right place. "Maybe that is something I need to work on. Or, now—here's a thought, we could just _tell_ our friends that we're together."

Hermione turned her back to him and continued to push her small trolley through the aisles of the Archives, floating various items to their correct homes. She could not count the number of times that they had had this particular discussion, yet she always came back to the same point—it had been working well for them so far, why ruin a good thing? And if not that—then her friends, his friends, _their_ friends would not take it too well. 

"You heard Weasley just then, Granger. He's the one we needed to be most concerned about, and _he’s_ the one laughing and making jokes. He'll be fine—they all will," Draco insisted.

Hermione hummed, doubt ricocheting within her. Moving on from her relationship with Ron had been difficult in the first year or two after their split. Any time she had so much as gone on a date, she had been presented with a long list of questionable qualities about the wizard. It had been tedious, off-putting and irritating to say the least. In the aftermath of such confrontations, Ron always returned to his oblivious, jovial self, giving Hermione such severe cases of whiplash, that the muscles in her neck and shoulders were constantly rigid. So when she had made a sudden and exceedingly unexpected connection with Draco over a favourite childhood book, her instincts told her to keep quiet about it. 

Finishing up with the re-shelving, Hermione leaned back into Draco's embrace, his arms circling her from behind. She breathed in his soft scent—clean; despite his long day. Citrus, bergamot and a slight hint of cigarette smoke—a habit he was trying and failing to break. 

In the months that had followed that first enlightening encounter, Hermione let her guard down and started to get to know the changed Draco Malfoy. The one that Harry claimed he was proud to work alongside, that he was friendly with. She let her guard down, and in turn, the heat rose. Every wayward glance set her skin to a blush. Every graze of her hand against his had sparks lancing through her veins. And when her pulse quickened to a frightening speed, and her brain ceased all logical thinking, and her hand swept through his soft blonde hair; the sparks in her bloodstream ignited, setting her body ablaze. Shocked at her brazenness, Draco had stiffened at the contact, his eyes finding hers and locking on them, securing her in place so that she was unable to retract her hand—or her heart. After what felt like an eternity, he lowered his gaze from her eyes to her mouth, and his lips followed the path they set. 

They met somewhere in the middle with a gasp and a cry—of pleasure, of surprise, of uninhibited desire. Their lips found each other with the force of a high-speed collision in that the kiss could be seen coming in slow motion, and when it happened, neither was unable to walk away unaffected. 

That had been six months ago and the time in between had been bliss—made even more so by the fact that everyone else was oblivious to it all. Was it so bad that Hermione wanted their friends to remain in the dark? Blissfully unaware so that she could have this one thing, just this _one thing_ that she didn’t have to share? That didn’t have to be put under the microscope and examined for all of the things that could go wrong, _should_ go wrong? Hermione could hear the objections to the relationship echoing in her mind. The same old bullshit that she was tired of. _What about how he treated you in school? The names, Hermione, remember the names? He’s a purist, he couldn’t possibly have good, long-lasting intentions! He was a Death Eater, ‘Mione. Remember that time that he cursed Katie Bell? Let the Death Eaters into the castle and was responsible for the death of Dumbledore? Huh, Hermione? Remember that?_ No, she couldn’t bear it. She and Draco needed to remain in their perfect sequestered bubble, no matter how badly Draco wanted to pop it.

Frustrated with where her thoughts were taking her, Hermione pushed away from the comfort of her boyfriend’s arms and continued to move through the archives, busying herself with more tasks when she should have been signing off for the day. Her mind was too hectic—wild with negative thoughts. Her nerves were a bundle of anxiety. She was agitated, ill at ease with even the thought of exposing her relationship with Draco. She should cancel on the night out, send Draco ahead without her, feign a headache. Something, _anything_ to calm the raging sea inside of her mind and heart. Draco followed her at a distance, already knowing her well enough to leave her be—to give her some semblance of space. 

Eventually, she came to a stop at her desk. Sitting, she willed the stormy waters calm and attempted to think rationally. The room darkened around her, and Draco stood still, patiently waiting for her to be ready.

“You should go on ahead, they’ll be suspicious by now for sure,” she told him, peeking out at him from the fingers she rested her face in.

Draco didn’t reply for a few moments. Silently, he lit the Archive’s candles; setting them to float in the air around them, sending light and warmth on a visceral path to her very bones. Already she felt better, her mind clearer. Draco was here, and he was here for her. 

Slowly, steadily, he moved towards her. Kneeling by her chair, Draco pried her fingers from her face. “So what? Let them be suspicious… it’s not like they’re both Aurors with _acceptable_ deductive skills or anything, right?” 

His grin was entirely inappropriate for the way she was feeling, yet it was infectious, and she felt her lips tugging up in a mirrored response to his. He ducked down to kiss her.

“You’re missing the point here, Malfoy,” she whispered against his insistent lips.

“And what exactly, Granger, was that point again?” He asked, detaching from her mouth and exploring down her neck. Hermione found herself unable to quite remember what the point was, either. She buried her fingers in his hair, her short fingernails scratching against his scalp, causing him to groan in the most delicious way. With her nerves set alight and desire blooming and blossoming urgently within her, Hermione pulled him closer. Abandoning her chair, Hermione stood and pulled him with her. 

If the kiss had been a burning passion within her before, it now exploded into an inferno. Embers flew through the air surrounding them, igniting the atmosphere and borrowing heat from the candles surrounding them. The fire raged, consuming all of the oxygen in the room until she was gasping for breath. Draco wedged his thigh between her legs, one hand tangled in her curls and the other fitted against her hip, tugging her blouse from her skirt. He pushed her flush against her desk until she sat upon it, skirt rucked up around her hips, one of his legs between hers. 

Finally, Draco had divested Hermione of her blouse, and she was making short work of his, the buttons popping easily under her deft fingers. Impatient for her skin, Draco unclipped her bra, discarded it and showered her breasts with attention; alternating between light nips and soft kisses. 

Still wearing too much, Hermione pushed against Draco’s bare chest, his taut and muscled body flexing beneath her touch. He stepped back immediately, and Hermione shimmied out of her skirt, revealing her Slytherin green knickers. Draco hummed in appreciation as Hermione plucked at the pins in her hair one by one, letting them rain down to the floor as she shook her hair out. Draco groaned deep in his throat—a truly terrifying and blood quickening sound, and returned to his task of marking her body as his, pushing her back against her desk.

In a quick and agile move Hermione had barely known she was capable of, she reversed their roles and pinned him against her desk; papers flying, old books falling, and inkpots crashing. Impressed and more actively aroused, Draco let her take the lead as he crept backwards on the desk, allowing her to climb atop him. 

“You sure this is a good idea, Granger?” He asked, an eyebrow quirked and a smirk on his delectable mouth. 

She was more than half-naked, straddling him—in the middle of her workplace. It was a valid question, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Hermione flipped her curls over one shoulder and leaned down to him, grazing his earlobe, neck and jaw bone with her teeth.

“Positive, Malfoy. What exactly did you expect when you set all those candles alight and then kissed me like your life depended on it?”

“Obviously for all of my wildest fantasies to come true,” he replied, smug. Whatever Hermione had been about to say next, he stole the words from her mouth with a searing kiss, bringing her down on top of him, her breasts pressed firmly against his chest. Holding her tightly to him, Draco used his feet and ankles to rid himself of his shoes and pants as Hermione ground down against the hard bulge in his boxers. Frustrated with the lack of friction, Hermione pulled her knickers off as Draco scrambled to do the same and finally, _finally_ , she sank down on top of him, keening as she stretched around him. 

Draco bucked against her, his hips demanding that she move—and move she did. Hermione rode him with fervour and passion. She needed him, every inch. She needed him with her every day in every way. Draco Malfoy had slowly become the most important person in her life, and she was determined to show him just how much she appreciated him. His hands sought her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh in a way that she knew would leave marks, and she added it to the list of things she couldn’t currently give a shit about. Draco was her other half. She had no need for a man to complete her—but somehow, Draco had become her home. Heart racing, bodies sweating and hips snapping, she sought her release. She moved her fingers to her throbbing clit and massaged it in the way she had perfected over the years. It wouldn’t be long now until she was calling his name. Draco held her tighter, fascinated in watching her, driven by her passion as she came undone around him, clenching against him in the most delicious of ways. He spilled inside of her as she collapsed on top of him, boneless and utterly spent. 

She rested on top of him as he shrunk inside of her, both catching their breaths as their sweat cooled, despite the heat from the candles surrounding them. 

“Gods, I love you,” he whispered against her ear.

Hermione tried not to react too harshly, but still, she held her breath, waiting for him to take it back. It was the first time he’d said it. Maybe he’d said it in the heat of the moment, moved by their collective passion to use words reserved for only the most sentimental of feelings. But he didn’t take it back. Instead, he seemed to be waiting for her to respond in kind. _Could_ she respond in kind? She could, and she would.

“I love you, too,” she said, lifting her head from his heaving chest.

“Then what are we waiting for? I love you and nothing that anyone says is going to stop me from feeling this way. What about you?”

“I—I guess I feel the same way. It won’t be easy, Draco,” she said, resting her head back against his chest. They should get up, get dressed and get out of there before anyone happened upon them, but Hermione found herself needing just a few moments more. “People… important people will have thoughts and feelings. They won’t be quiet about them, either. Are you prepared for that?”

“I’m prepared for anything just as long as I have you by my side,” he replied, lifting his head to place a gentle kiss to her temple. 

“Hmm,” she murmured, snuggling in deeper.

Several moments too soon, they had dressed. Hermione fixed her hair, and Draco distinguished the candles. Hand in hand they Disapparated to the pub they would meet Harry and Ron in. Hermione gripped Draco’s hand in hers, the decision made as she held her head high and walked into the pub. At first, they were greeted with stunned silence. It stretched and stretched until Hermione found herself releasing Draco’s hand, but he held on tight. A broad smile stretched across Ron’s face.

“About fucking time,” Harry grinned, wrapping his arm around Ginny and pulling her close. 

“I thought I’d die before you two came clean,” Ginny joined in, ignoring Harry’s arm and pulling Hermione in for a hug. 

Most surprising of all was when Ron clapped Draco on the shoulder and offered them both a hearty congratulations. 

“I guess this means we can get away with more field Quidditch in the Archives, eh Malfoy?”

“Absolutely not!” Hermione replied, though her blush betrayed her. 


End file.
